Free Ignited by Lily Cahill Page A

happened, and I’m just—I’m trying to help.” She held out the scissors, the bright red handle garish against her pale skin. “You can do it yourself, if you want, though it’ll be neater if I help.”
    “I need to see it. My hair, I mean. The damage I did,” Ruth stuttered.
    Briar nodded toward the hallway. “The restroom’s next door. We can cut your hair in there and wash it down the drain. No one who didn’t notice you when you got here will ever know.”
    Arnold would definitely notice. As Ruth followed Briar out into the hallway and into the bathroom next door, she thought of his reaction. He would tell her father—not that the man wouldn’t see the evidence of any haircut for himself. But he’d see the cut as an act of rebellion, and it would be years before Ruth was allowed out again, and—
    —and she wanted to go out again. She wanted to see June without the guilt, and to attend fundraisers without worrying about Arnold’s behavior, and she wanted all of it and to feel at peace with God, as well.
    Was it even possible? Her powers were proof that it wasn’t ….
    Weren’t they?
    Ruth caught her reflection in the mirror. A large hank of her hair was missing just below her shoulder, right at the front of her head. It was obvious and ugly, since the rest of her hair fell to her waist. The ends were burned black and felt crumbly when she touched them. There was no hiding it. It was too short to pull back, too close to the front to blend in behind her ear.
    Briar was right. It would be better just to trim it in total, even things out, and make up an excuse.
    Briar was still holding the scissors in her hands, watching Ruth carefully. Ruth studied the girl’s reflection in the mirror. Her father had been wrong about her. She was kind. Maybe not truthful all the time, but who was?
    Mistaking her silence for hesitance, Briar insisted, “It’ll still be plenty long. It’ll go to your shoulders.”
    Ruth nodded. “Okay.”
    She rolled back her shoulders, standing as tall as she could. She was still inches shorter than Briar, who leaned forward and made the first snip. A lock of hair fluttered downward into the sink, standing out dark against the porcelain.
    Ruth felt a spasm of guilt, but it passed quickly.
    The scissors closed again and again around Ruth’s head, and she closed her eyes. She couldn’t watch the damage happen. It was silly, maybe, but she’d always been taught there was godliness in having long hair. It hurt to let that part of herself go.
    She needed to distract herself.
    “Briar,” she said, interrupting the silence. “I wanted to thank you for the fabric you gave me. I appreciate it, I really do, but I just can’t keep it. It wouldn’t be right.”
    There was a snort behind her. “I didn’t buy that for you.”
    “What?” Ruth opened her eyes, tried to turn, but Briar frowned and put a hand on her shoulder, keeping her still. A glimpse showed her hair was two different lengths, the shorter half with jagged edges, and she shuttered her eyes again, unable to take it. “You had to have done it. There was no one else—”
    “I really didn’t. Dr. Porter did.”
    Ruth froze. That couldn’t possibly be true.
    All of a sudden, her fantasy came flooding back to her. The strong arms around her as she washed the dishes, his voice deep in her ear, the feel of him pressed close to her, all of his front to all of her back.
    She shuddered, pulled herself out of the daydream. She couldn’t think about that, not now .
    Despite the fact that she hadn’t said anything, Briar seemed to sense her disbelief. “No, really. He did. I helped him pick out the colors, but that’s about it. He felt responsible, since your father reacted the way he did after he saw the two of you talking.” 
    “But …,” Ruth’s voice trailed off. She thought of the bruise on her arm, that had only completely faded the day before. Hadn’t that been because she asked for new fabric?
    Had it been