I cut pieces from the back and the front, until all that survived was a choppy short mane. With each piece, I felt like I was getting rid of someone’s expectations of me: goodbye, Mom, Dad, Will, Ace, those kids at lunch, my teachers, everyone. I felt giddy and light, like I might even start to float away. It was the end of normal.

The girl in the yearbook would never have had short hair.

I set the scissors on my desk, gathered up the strewn clippings as best I could, and then I fell quickly, peacefully asleep. I didn’t even take off my clothes or turn off the light.

When my alarm went off the next morning, I jumped out of bed without even looking in the mirror. I had actually forgotten all about my hair until I was in the shower. Little pieces slipped through my fingers like sand before they washed down the drain.

When I saw myself in the bathroom mirror, I felt sort of elated. It seems strange to say even now, but I finally recognized the person in the mirror as the person inside my head.

“Your hair!” Dad said when I came into the kitchen for breakfast. “What happened?”

I told him that nothing had happened. I had simply decided to cut it. I didn’t ask him what he thought either.

“If I’d known you wanted to cut it, I could have taken you somewhere to get it done.”

When I sat down at the table, Dad stood so that he could better appraise my mane from an overhead angle.

“It’s not bad. It’s cool actually. Kind of punk rock,” Dad said finally, gently tousling my hair. “I barely recognize you, kiddo.”

That hadn’t been the point, of course. Maybe just an amazing perk. If no one recognized me, they wouldn’t be upset when I didn’t recognize them either.

I am

5

THE REVIEWS WERE MIXED.

Ace walked right past me in the hallway. I had to call his name, and when he saw me he looked confused and betrayed, like Bambi when his mother bites it in the movie. “I liked it long,” he said finally. Then he kissed me. “It’s going to take some getting used to.” When we stopped kissing, I noticed that Will was staring at us from across the corridor.

I waved at him.

“Jesus, I thought Zuckerman was cheating on you, Chief,” Will called.

“He’d love that,” Ace muttered under his breath.

Will walked up to me and tousled my hair. “You look like you just got out of prison.”

“How’d you know? That’s exactly what I was going for,” I said.

Will looked at me and nodded. “I like it,” he declared after a moment’s consideration. The first bell rang, so we all scattered to our lockers and classes.

“I just want you to know that I think your hair is complete genius,” Alice Leeds, the girl who had helped me open my locker, said to me as I was fishing out my precalculus book.

“Thanks.”

As her locker was only two to the left of mine, I usually saw her several times a day. After third period, Alice brought up my hair again. “It’s weird, but I can’t stop thinking about your hair. It intrigues me. It’s like you have nothing to hide behind anymore.”

“Um, okay.”

At lunch, Alice came up to my table in the cafeteria and handed me a flyer. “I know you’re big into yearbook, but I’m directing this play. Come audition, if you want.”

I looked at the paper, which announced auditions for the Thomas Purdue Country Day School’s production of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. “Oh, that’s not really my type of thing,” I demurred.

“Have you ever been in a play before?” she asked.

“Not since second grade. I played the dual roles of Corn and Plymouth Rock in the school’s Thanksgiving pageant. I was pretty awesome.”

“Well, if you’ve really never been in a play, how do you know for sure that it’s not your thing?”

By now, Alice was starting to attract the attention of the other people at Ace’s table.

“Yeah, Nomi, how do you know?” asked that awful Brianna-girl. Since that first day, she hadn’t spoken to me at all unless it was to say something nasty. She really let loose when Ace wasn’t there, which he hadn’t been that day on account of making up a Spanish test.

“You’re right. I don’t know. I’ll see you there, Alice.” I wasn’t really going to go. I only said I would because Brianna was being such a jerk.

Alice smiled at me and nodded.

“Nice gloves,” Brianna called to Alice as she walked away. Alice was wearing black lace gloves with the fingers cut off. “You better watch out. I heard she’s a total lezzie,” Brianna whispered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your hair,” she said, sweet as vomit. “It might give some people the wrong idea.”

“Your comments might give some people the wrong idea, too,” I said even sweeter. I picked up my tray and left. I decided to tell Ace I wasn’t ever going to eat with those people again.

Somehow, that day managed to become the best one of school so far. It made me cheerful not to be recognized. I went through my classes in a sort of happy fog and by the time eighth period rolled around, I had completely forgotten about my Advanced Photography Workshop project proposal. Mr. Weir had already given me two other extensions, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t come up with an idea. I was probably going to have to drop the class after all.

“So what’s it gonna be, Naomi?” Mr. Weir asked.

“Well, it’s still in progress,” I said, looking around the classroom desperately. Student and professional artwork covered almost every space. In the uppermost corner of the room was a picture from an ultrasound machine. “Maybe something to do with pregnancy?” I suggested.

“Good, but how is that a personal story?” Mr. Weir asked.

“Well…” I tried to improvise. “I’m adopted…and my sister isn’t…Is there anything there?”

Mr. Weir thought about it for a second and then nodded. “Maybe. I’d need to hear a bit more first.”

I wouldn’t have gone to the audition except that I ran into Alice Leeds at our lockers. “Want to walk down with me?” she asked.

And I would have probably said no to that, too, except that idiotic Brianna was watching us from across the hallway. “Sure,” I said loudly enough for her to hear. “Let’s go.”

Alice appraised me over her glasses. “You definitely shouldn’t audition for Rosencrantz or Guildenstern. Not with yearbook. Those roles rehearse every day.”

“Um, okay.”

“I think you might make a good Hamlet…I like the idea of a girl Hamlet, don’t you?”

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?” I watched her make a note on a legal pad and wondered when I could slip out of the theater without her seeing.

At that point, we were inside the theater, and Alice turned her attention to organizing the auditions. I probably could have left, but something kept me there. With its dingy red velvet seats and its scuffed wooden stage, the theater reminded me of a foreign country. It was like all of a sudden discovering that Prague or Berlin was in the middle of my high school. The room was overflowing with nervous energy and excitement, and I guess I wanted to see how it would all turn out.

Before the auditions, Alice made a speech, a few words about the play and her “vision” for it. I liked how passionate she was about things, and somehow she made me forget that I had intended to leave.

As I was at the top of Alice’s list, I was the first to read. I guess because I didn’t much care whether I was cast or not, it was pretty painless. I even got a few laughs. Whether they were a result of my incompetence or my comedic skills, I couldn’t have told you.

I rushed up to the yearbook room. By that time, I was about twenty-five minutes late, and yearbook was in full swing. Without even talking to Will or anyone else, I set down my bag and went immediately to work going through the foreign language clubs’ group photos.

“I like that one,” Will said, pointing to a picture of the Spanish Honor Society in sombreros. “Better than just a bunch of kids standing around.”

I nodded. I had already selected that one myself.

“Maybe all the foreign language club group photos could have themes? Like French in berets?”

“Oui. Eating French toast.”

“And French fries. Very culturally sensitive and subtle.”

“Or how about the sign-language club dressed up like Helen Keller?” I joked.

“Or the Latin club in a graveyard. You know, ’cause it’s a dead language?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, that last one’s too gimmicky. I like Helen Keller, though. Why don’t you get on that, Chief? How exactly does one dress up like Helen Keller anyway?”

“Blindfolds? Ear muffs?” I shrugged and went back to going over the pictures.

“Why were you late?” Will asked.

I was about to tell him the story, pass it off like a big joke, but at the last second I didn’t. Even though he hadn’t been anything but nice, I wanted it to be my own secret, something Will didn’t know about me. I doubted I would even get cast in the play anyway, but I wasn’t ready to laugh about it yet either. “Mr. Weir kept me after class,” I lied.

“Still haven’t come up with your project?”

I shook my head.

Sunday night around nine, a girl called me on my cell. Her voice was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “Cookie,” she said, “what’s the story? Are you in or are you out?”

“In, I guess?” In my opinion, it is always better to be in if someone gives you the choice. But actually I had no idea what the girl was talking about.