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  As I wrapped my long, thick hair in a towel, I found myself wondering how much easier it might be if it were shorter, and maybe layered. After I dried the rest of me and started combing through my hair, I decided that I definitely needed to check into a hairstyle that was less time consuming to live with. Perms were supposed to be good for that, weren't they?

  Now, what to wear? I usually threw on some favorite sweats on Sundays. But, as I looked through them, they just didn't seem to fit my mood. I wanted to look―well, nicer. But in all of my T-shirts and sweaters I couldn't find anything . . . pretty. There were a lot of loose-fitting, bland-colored things, but nothing that made me look attractive.

  Maybe Samantha had a point about that, too.

  I settled for jeans and a bulky green sweater. Looking at myself in the full length mirror attached to the inside of my closet door (I had asked to have it where I wouldn’t be exposed to its reflections all the time), I just couldn't be satisfied. I finally sighed and gave up, shutting the door. It was too hard to see me for the clothes.

  Wondering if anyone else was up, I went to the kitchen and found Gina at the table, looking over the Sunday paper with the remains of some cold cereal and juice in front of her. She looked up as I came in and sat down.

  "Good morning," she said, in a surprised voice.

  "Hi." I sat down next to her. "Gina?"

  "Uh-huh?" She looked rather curious.

  "Um. I've been thinking . . . ."

  "Uh-oh!" she interrupted, grinning. It was a standing joke between us that when one of us said they had been thinking, we would indicate concern for the danger that might result from said thinking.

  I grinned back. "Yeah. Scary, huh? But I'm afraid I have.

  "Do you think we could do something about this, " grabbing a handful of hair, "and these?" tugging at my clothes.

  "Sure," she answered promptly, still grinning. "What do you want to do about them?"

  "Well, Sam has been suggesting . . . no, harassing is probably a better word. Anyway, she keeps telling me I should get a layered cut and perm. That I would be pretty if I did."

  Gina looked me straight in the eyes and reached over to put her hand on my leg. "Honey, you are pretty. You just haven't wanted to point it out to anybody before."

  I could feel myself blushing slightly. "Thank you." Silly me, I was starting to tear up. But then, I noticed, so was Gina. We hadn't really talked about this before. I had never wanted to. No. Correction: I had been afraid to. How could someone like me be pretty? So I had decided it wasn't worth the heartache of thinking about, let alone talking about.

  She cleared her throat. "So, is that what you want? Perm and a cut?"

  "Yes. I'm not sure exactly how I want it cut, but I don't want to look like a poodle. I'm afraid it's going to be too short and it won't look good. Then it will take forever to grow it back out and it'll look awful in the meantime." The way I had always worn my hair might not be stylish, but at least it was safe.

  Gina got up, gave me a hug and a kiss on my forehead and said, simply, "That just means you're perfectly normal―whatever that is." She made a funny face and we both laughed. "You know you want it layered, but not very short, and you want to try a perm―which will have to be loose since your hair will be longer. That's plenty to start with. You remember Norma at the Cut'N'Curl? The woman who does my hair?" I nodded. "She's really good at fitting styles with people, and is, of course, entirely up on all the new styles. Let's call and make an appointment for you with her. Okay?"

  I realized that I was biting my lip. I had never been to a beauty parlor before. All these years, Gina had just trimmed my hair for me at home. I seemed to remember that Gina had commented on occasion about how nice it was that Norma had a small, cozy shop with staff and clientele that had known each other for years. "Is she still in the same shop?" I queried.

  "Yup. So it's not far from school, if you want to just walk over by yourself one day this week."

  By myself? That wasn’t going to happen . . . .

  "I think I'd rather wait until Saturday. I was hoping maybe you would go with me. At least for the first part, while we're deciding exactly what to do. I'd like your opinion. You always look nice."

  "Why, thank you, Hon’. I'd be happy to go with you. Let's see, it's after nine o'clock, so they're open. Do you want me to set the appointment and let Norma know what you want?"

  "Yes, please."

  "Any time in particular? You usually want to sleep in on Saturdays; and Sundays, for that matter." She looked at me quizzically.

  "The earlier the better."

  "Okay. You've got it." Gina managed to stop looking slightly bewildered as she stood up to get the phone. She had the particulars explained to Norma and the appointment set in less than five minutes. I sat and waited, taking deep, controlled breaths.

  She came back and sat down. "You're all set for nine-thirty next Saturday morning. She booked enough time for a cut and a perm." Gina chuckled. "Norma said she's been aching to get at your hair for years. She's already got a style in mind that will be a lot easier for you to take care of, and won't be too drastic of a change for you."

  "Thank you."

  "You’re welcome. Now, what about these?" she asked, motioning to my clothes. "What do you have in mind?"

  "I really don't know. I just want to look more like a girl, I guess."

  "No one could mistake you for a boy, Honey."

  "That's not what I meant."

  She smiled. "I know." She paused, considering. "Cassie, sometimes I think you don't see yourself very clearly. And you certainly don't give yourself enough credit―inside or out." Another pause. Then, on a lighter note, "Are we talking about school clothes?"

  "Yes." I didn’t really go anywhere else.

  "Alright. Well, you know, there are lots of ads for clothing sales in the paper here. Why don't we browse through them and get some ideas. Okay?"

  "Okay. That sounds good." Wow. Gina was really starting to get into this. And, come to think of it, I was, too. When I was able to temporarily disregard the reality of having to go to a store, that is. It's not like I never did, but it was something I avoided as much as possible. And it was usually possible.

  "Hang on just a minute." Gina left, and came back with a spiral notebook, scissors, a gluestick, and a pen. "Let's do this right. It will take less time in the long run, and we'll have a reference when we go to the stores. I know you don't like to go shopping, so we can be in and out more quickly." More than one store? Maybe I wasn't so sure about this anymore. "When we find something you like―style, color, whatever―we'll cut it out. Why don't we start with this one?" Moving her breakfast dishes over to the sink, she placed a department store ad on the table in front of us. And we were off.

  So it turned out to be kind of fun, which I wasn't expecting. Actually, though, this was all spur of the moment, so I hadn't really expected anything at all.

  I looked and cut, while Gina did the rest―making notes on what I said I liked about each cutout, then sorting them somehow. She knew what she was doing and was enjoying herself, so I left that part alone. She told me not to think about it too much, just go on my first impression. I tried to do what she asked, but it was kind of hard to see myself looking like the models in the ads: Beautiful and confident. I knew, however, that Gina wouldn't force me to get clothes I didn't want; or, to wear them at all if I got cold feet after the fact, for that matter. So it would turn out alright, one way or the other.

  Mark wandered in at one point, still in his T-shirt and pajama bottoms. "What's this, Cassie? A school project?"

  "No," I answered.

  Gina spoke up, smiling, "We are planning a wardrobe makeover for her."

  "Oh," Mark replied. He looked totally befuddled. Grabbing a banana, he called back over his shoulder as he escaped to another part of the house, "You girls have fun! Let me know when you're done!" He obviously knew better than to get mixed up in the process.

  It didn't take very long to co
mplete my part. Gina suggested I go ahead and eat breakfast while she finished hers. She cleared the table except for what she was working with, and called out, "It's safe now, Mark!"

  "Thanks!" he called back.

  I got a banana and a glass of milk―I wasn't a big breakfast eater―then sat and watched Gina finish whatever it was she was doing.

  "Okay," she said after a few minutes. "When do you want to go shopping?"

  "Well," I hesitated, "I was thinking in maybe a couple of weeks." Gina didn't seem surprised, so I continued. "I think I need some more time to think about it first. Get used to the idea, get clearer about what I want." Prepare myself for the ordeal it would be.

  "Okay," Gina responded. "Since you aren't sure about exactly what you want, why don't you take this notebook and browse through it when you have time. And, when you see someone that you think looks good, notice what they're wearing. We'll go when you're ready. Just let me know."

  I was sure Gina could read the relief in my face. "Thank you."

  Gina smiled knowingly at me. "By the way, you have a great figure and could pull off any of those looks. So don't tell yourself anything different."

  "I'll try." Though I was relatively certain that I wouldn't succeed. I got up and gave Gina a hug. "Thanks again." She didn't say anything, just hugged me back. "I'll do the clean–up," I offered.

  "Okay," Gina responded, smiling.

  It required a very few minutes to take care of the minor mess we had made.

  Now, what to do with the rest of the day. It wasn't even noon yet. I went back to my room to consider the possibilities, taking the notebook and putting it on my dresser. Lying down on my bed, thoughts of Will Stuart again surfaced. And I wasn't going to fight it. Why bother? What harm could it do? I'd never see him again anyway.

  Well, that didn't feel good. I decided to try again.

  I might see him again . . . someday . . . .

  Not as bad, but not good. One more try.

  How was I going to see him again?

  Now that I could work with. I had no idea where he lived―as if that would help anyway. I couldn't just show up at his house. Or call him. His sister would start at the high school tomorrow. I could find out who she was and introduce myself and . . . . No, no, no. I wasn’t going to use anyone like that.

  Where might he be today? Any chance he might be where he was last night? As small as that likelihood was, I had become so wound up by this time that my room, even the house, felt confining. Strange. It had never felt that way to me before.

  I would go for a walk. I grabbed my coat; let Gina and Mark know I was going out (they never objected―I didn't go out often and never got into any trouble); responded "Okay" when they reminded me to take my key because they might also be going out; and left.

  The sun was bright, but it was chilly. Apparently chilly enough that most people were discouraged from being out in the crisp fall air. That was good for me. Not a lot of unwanted input. So I walked toward the park, telling myself that he would not be there, and hoping he would, by some miracle, be there. My heart beat faster as I came within sight of the swings. I looked, then looked again.

  No one was there. I shouldn't have been surprised. But I sighed anyway.

  It was silly of me to be disappointed. You knew he wouldn't be here, I told myself. I stopped and listened, expecting a reply. And not just any reply. One inside my head. Why? After little thought, I realized it was because last night when I spoke to myself that clearly and directly (although silently), his voice had answered inside me. Hmm. Perhaps something to keep in mind for future reference.

  In the meantime . . . .

  I went to my favorite swing and sat down. I waited for quite some time, though I wasn't wearing my watch so I didn't know exactly how long. I would swing for a while. And sit for a while. Then I would twist the swing around and around, making myself a little dizzy letting it unwind. And then I would do it all again.

  He really wasn't coming, I at long last concluded.

  All at once, I felt very tired. Well, one good night's sleep wasn't going to make up for the hundreds of bad ones. Maybe I'd just go home and take a nap.

  Suddenly, I sensed that somebody was coming toward me. Could it be . . . ? But I hadn't been able to sense him before, so why would I now? I concentrated to discern more. Several somebodies. Oh, well. I hadn't really believed it would be him. Had I?

  A group of noisy boys was headed straight for the swings. Time to make my escape. I got up and headed home.

  It was probably just as well. When I arrived, Gina told me that Sam had been calling every few minutes for the last hour or so, panicked about her trig test. So I called her back.

  "Cassie, I know it's Sunday, and you spent all that time yesterday helping me, but . . . ."

  "It's alright, Sam. Come on over."

  "You're the best, Cassie. I'll be right there."

  "Okay. 'Bye."

  "Thanks. 'Bye."

  Knowing that her "right there" would probably be at least a half hour instead of the ten minutes it would take to walk, or less than five to drive, I went in on my bed to lie down while I waited.

  I was worn out. And not just physically. It was silly of me to think that I would run into him again at the park. But, being apparently more silly than I had realized, I would have wondered and been sorry if I hadn't tried. Well, it didn't hurt anybody. And no one else knew. So no big deal. Right?

  But it kept being a big deal to part of me. Will Stuart's look and voice and feel returned to me the instant I closed my eyes. It was almost as if he were there, still talking to me inside. And then that same peaceful sense of safety I experienced with him the night before spread over me, like a warm blanket. It was more than seeing him in my mind. His presence was so real that I felt the urge to reach out for him, to him, as if he had something for me. Something I wanted. And needed? My hands, my arms began to stretch toward him . . . .

  "Cassie, wake up!" It was Samantha as she plopped down on the foot of the bed. "Time for trig!"

  "Okay. Give me a minute," I said as I dragged myself off the bed and into the bathroom, closing and locking the door. I leaned on the counter, trying to compose myself. What was wrong with me? I was upset. And crying. Why?

  It wasn't hard to figure out. Samantha's arrival had abruptly torn me away from my dream of Will Stuart.

  And that's all it was, I sternly reminded myself. A dream.

  Was I a basket case, or what? I had to get a grip on myself. I blew my nose, wiped my eyes, and took a deep breath. Then I unlocked and opened the door, as ready as I was going to be to face reality―and Samantha's trigonometry.

  She seemed more motivated this time, so we got through the material more quickly. But it was well into the afternoon by the time she left. That was probably good. The fatigue that had failed to appear in the morning had now returned full force, and I no longer felt like doing much of anything. No homework to do. No reason to go anywhere.

  How about one more quick trip to the park, just in case?

  But I wasn't going to act like a fool. Not again, anyway.

  I settled for not watching something on television―or had they put in a movie?―with Gina and Mark. Then I didn't eat much dinner. And I didn't stay up any longer than seemed reasonable before going to bed to make the day end as soon as possible. There had been more hope in it when I first got up, I remembered while putting on my pajamas. What had happened? I pondered while I brushed my teeth and hair and finished up in the bathroom. The answer came readily enough, but I didn't like it because it had to do with Will Stuart―yet again.

  I finally went to sleep deliberately thinking about anything else but him. Or trying to, at least.

  Chapter Three

  Monday morning followed Sunday night, as usual. When the alarm clock went off, I again had to pry my eyelids open and give myself the same old pep talk about just getting up, etc., etc., etc. You see, the bad dreams had come back, so I hadn't slept well at all. And somehow, a
fter a night's reprieve, it seemed worse.

  But I got up anyway. And got ready for school. And left for school. And arrived at school. And went to my locker.

  I said hello to Sam as I passed her in the hall, and wished her luck on her trig test. I wouldn't see her again until, maybe, after school―if she weren't in the middle of some social occurrence or another. She was nowhere near interested in any of the advanced classes I was taking this semester (and I was taking more than I had taken any previous semester), so we ended up not having any classes together at all. Even our lunch periods were different.

  And so I went to class. Then another class, and another. And another. Then lunch. And more classes. The day seemed to drag endlessly.

  As I went to my locker for the last time, memories of Saturday night in the park returned―Will Stuart's face and voice so distinct, I was almost there again. As I walked through the maze of cars in the student lot, on my typical route home through that same park, I found myself wishing there were such a thing as time travel so I could relive that experience. And not just for the purpose of sleeping through the night. I found myself longing . . . . No, not strong enough. It seemed almost melodramatic, but I truly hungered to find out more about this Will Stuart. And, of course, why he had such an unreasonably profound effect on me. There has to be a way to see Will Stuart again.

  "That's easy. I'm right here."

  I stopped, startled. Then that same bewildering sense of calm and well-being washed over me. Was the voice for real?

  "Hey, Cassie!" This one definitely was. I turned to find the person it belonged to.

  "Hi, Will." He was walking toward me, a pretty girl with brown hair by his side. What, was I feeling jealous? Stop it . . . . "What are you doing here?" I managed to get out.

  "I came to pick up my sister," he answered, putting his arm around the girl at his side, who looked up at him and smiled. "First day of school in a new town, and all that. Cassie, this is my sister, Melinda; Melinda, Cassie," he concluded, turning to her.