Invisible Me

Chapter 36

When I get home, Mom's in her usual dither. On the phone, not happy with this thing or that.

"Hi, Mom," I say, waving.

Her jaw slackens. "I . . . Can I call you back?" She disconnects and drops the phone.

"What have you done with your hair?" she shrieks.

Well, I guess that got her attention. Finally.

"Why? Don't you like it?"

"Well . . . it's different."

"So, you don't like it."

"I didn't say that."

"Whatever." I turn and start walking away.

"Portia."

Something in her voice makes me stop cold. I turn to look at her. My Mom is staring at me.

I steel myself. "What is it?"

She shakes her head. "What's going on? Why'd you do that to your hair?"

"Why shouldn't I? It's my hair."

"Well, of course, but . . ."

A silent moment stretches for eons. The kitchen clock ticks.

"Can I go to my room now?" I ask.

My Mom takes a deep breath, as if she's doing yoga. "Of course. Your father and I will want to talk to you later about . . . this." She touches her own hair. She actually means mine.

"Fine. Whatever." I want this conversation to end.

"Portia, wait." This time, her voice makes my heart melt. She seems to be on the verge of tears.

I harden inside. Don't cry. You're not a child.

"Now what?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "You're growing up so fast. That's all."

She smiles and leans down to hug me. I hug her back tightly, but I think, This can't be just about my hair.

"Mom, is something wrong?" I mumble into her neck.

"I'm a bit tired," she says. "And you surprised me. I wasn't expecting you to come home with blue-streaked hair." She pulls away and grins.

I return her grin, but I wonder if there's more to the story.

Later, my Dad comes home and we all sit down to dinner. He takes one look at me and raises an eyebrow. My parents exchange glances, which I choose to ignore. They make meaningless chitchat about their day and ask me about mine, without mentioning the hair. After dinner, I rinse off the dishes and load the dishwasher. My Dad comes into the kitchen.

"Hey, kiddo. Got a minute? Your Mom and I have something we'd like to discuss with you."

I finish up, wipe the counter, dry my hands and go to the living room for our big discussion. "My goodness," Dad says. "That color is quite . . ."

I fill in the blank. "Different?"

"Exactly! Blue is a very different color for hair. Don't you think?"

So is nothing. Having hair that's no color is even more different. But how would you know?

My Mom chimes in. "What prompted this? Did the other girls talk you into this?"

"Other girls?" My Dad looks from Mom to me with curiosity. He doesn't have a clue about my social life. At least Mom knows I've got a few friends. Yes, Dad! Amazing, but true.

How can I explain that all I want to do is have fun and be part of the group. Just be a normal kid doing kid stuff. Like playing catch with popcorn or dying hair. But they don't seem to understand. It's like I colored my hair intentionally to provoke them. I just wanted to do it. That's all.

I try to explain in terms I hope they'll understand. They're parents, not kids. They've forgotten what it's like.

"I just wanted to do something different and interesting. You know? Ever feel that way? Like life was dull and you needed to do something more?"

My Dad looks puzzled. "You're too young to sound so jaded." He chucks me under the chin. "Smile, things aren't that bad, are they?"

My Mom looks at me, her eyes bright. She keeps silent.