Free About a Girl by Joanne Horniman Page B

in the scent of her.
    â€˜Don’t be timid,’ she said. ‘Just hack away. Nothing’s irrevocable.’
    â€˜You haven’t seen how much damage I can do,’ I said.
    â€˜I trust you,’ she said, making me blush. I blush easily; it’s one of the things I hate about myself.
    I cut and cut at Morgan’s hair, darting around the front every so often to see how it looked, and every time I did I encountered her smile. She surveyed the result in the hand mirror, and then went to the bathroom and snipped a bit more off herself, and then she was done.
    â€˜Could you do mine?’ I asked.
    â€˜I don’t know if I’d dare. Your mother might kill me.’
    â€˜She might kill you anyway.’ And we laughed.
    â€˜Oh, very well,’ she said, in a mock grumbling tone. ‘If you insist.’
    â€˜I’d like it really short. And sort of scrappy, like someone’s chewed it off.’
    â€˜Are you sure? It’s such a beautiful colour, it seems a shame.’
    â€˜It’ll still be a beautiful colour – there just won’t be so much of it.’ I was sick of having it long. ‘Anyway, nothing’s irrevocable.’
    â€˜At least where hair’s concerned.’
    I wanted to sit there all day with Morgan combing and clipping, her hands brushing against my skin. In the end, she didn’t cut it extremely short, but made a shapely bob, layered at the back and cut up into the nape of my neck. Too soon it was finished, and I had to make my way home.
    â€˜I didn’t know you were going to the hairdresser,’ said my mother.
    â€˜D’you like it?’
    â€˜Suits you. Should have done it like that ages ago.’
    I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, even though Morgan and I had already examined the haircut from every possible angle. I liked the way the hair at the front curved beautifully to my chin, making a frame for my face. And in profile, the cut-away at the back accentuated my long neck and made me look quite regal. For the first time in my life I looked into the mirror and knew that I looked lovely.
    I looked like a person that someone could fall in love with.
    Closing my eyes, I leaned my forehead against the cold glass, remembering the warm, thrilling touch of Morgan’s hands on my shoulders.

Chapter Six
    T HAT WINTER , as the richly coloured leaves of autumn mounded brown in the gutters, and the bare gardens struggled in the frosty, dry air, my mood changed. My crush on Morgan became a cause of disgust with myself – it was so stupid and childish, worse than an unrequited and impossible love for someone my own age. I started to avoid going around to my father’s place, and I hated being at home as well.
    I felt angry a lot of the time, and to fit my mood, I now dressed entirely in black. Old black clothes, faded, smelly things found in op shops: black wool skirts, black cotton blouses with buttons coming off, black jumpers unravelling at the elbows. Black suited the season, and my mood. I even dyed my hair black. To my annoyance, my mother had told me that the colour didn’t suit my skin tones, that I had a redhead’s skin. When I looked in the mirror I secretly agreed, though I would never have told her so.
    My change in mood affected even my friendship with Michael. As usual, I would appear at the window of his room at all hours, clamber in, and lie on his bed without a word. When I wouldn’t talk, he’d sit and hold my hand. He stroked me, the way you would a cat, but I could feel my body remain tense. It was impossible for me to soften. I was simply incapable of it.
    One night, obviously fed up with the way I was behaving, he said, ‘Anna, what’s the matter with you?’
    â€˜The matter? There’s no matter.’
    And I flung myself off his bed and stomped out of the house, not worrying that I was probably waking his parents.
    I saw pain everywhere, and