Befriended  

IN a perfect world, Zeidy would still be alive and Bubby would never have gotten sick. I would still be living in Lakewood with my old group of friends, the perfect social circle where I could talk and laugh and be my perfect old self.

I pull a strand of hair and drag it at the ends. At least having silent conversations with Styrofoam heads doesn’t give me the anxiety I get when I have to talk to my new classmates.

“You’re a natural,” Mrs. Lady-In-The-Chair says.

I smile hesitantly. Natural. Sure. When it comes to wigs, maybe. Not when it comes to forming new friendships. There’s a Biology midterm scheduled to tomorrow. While my classmates are partying and joking and studying, I’m here doing the most atypical thing a high schooler would do: cutting a wig.

I flip the bangs and snip a piece of hair on the left side.