“I bet you’d find out you got a funny-shaped head,” Poppy retorts.
The sisters begin to bicker, tossing little jabs at each other while they dress for the day. I turn to look at Rose, still sitting on her own mattress, knees pulled to her chest. She’s said nothing thus far, but her green eyes are on me. My chest tightens, my insides squirming like a nest of snakes.
What if she thinks I’m ugly?
It’sa shameful thought. One that proves every point Sol made last night. I have been far too attached to my hair. It’s been a security blanket, but it had also been tied to my sense of self. I’ve been more vain than I realized. So it’s good he asked me to cut it. It’s good that I’m being forced to find my identity and self-worth without this one, small aspect of my appearance.
But still, I am afraid of how Rose—especially Rose—will look at me now. And I know that that’s wrong, because I shouldn’t see Rose as any different from the other girls. And yet …
Her expression is contemplative as she watches me, but otherwise she is unreadable. I shift nervously beneath the weight of those eyes and continue to run my hand over the soft fuzz on my scalp.
“I know it’s patchy,” I say, trying to point out the flaws before she can, as if that’ll make the pain of her judgment any easier. “I’ve never used clippers before. It— I know it doesn’t look great.”
Rose cocks her head. “I don’t think it looks bad at all,” she says. “Just gonna take some getting used to.”
“Yeah. It, um, it didn’t really look like me in the mirror when I was done.”
She grimaces. “I’m sure that must be strange. Especially to feel that way after you made the decision to do it.”
It’s not a question, but it is. She suspects the lie. And the factthat I’ve been dishonest with her causes the vise around my heart to grow tighter. Still, I have no choice but to nod.
And, in a way, thiswasmy decision. I could have said no. I could have walked away from the trial, from Sol, from this home and this family. But Idecidedto cut my hair instead. I made the choice.
“Well, you still look like you to me,” she says, stretching her leg out to nudge me with her socked foot. “You’re still beautiful.”
A sudden rush of heat fills me, warming my cheeks and causing my palms to bead with sweat. I want to turn away, to hide my blush from her, but I find I’m unable to break the eye contact. Like Medusa, Rose’s gaze has turned me to stone, pinning me to the spot.
“Th-thank you,” I manage to say with an embarrassing stammer.
I’m not sure how long we remain there, eyes locked on each other in tense silence. But the spell is eventually broken by Zinnia, ending her squabble with Poppy to turn and face me.
“Iris?”
“Yeah?” I say, quickly snapping my gaze away from Rose to look at the younger girl. “What’s up?”
“I was thinking, now that you changed your hair, do you wantme to do a new drawing for you?” she asks. “To replace the one I did for your anniversary?”
“No,” I say, before I’ve even really considered the question. But I feel a sudden sense of possessiveness over the pencil drawing stored beneath my mattress. I clear my throat. “No, I wanna keep the original. Thank you, though.”
Zinnia shrugs. “Suit yourself. Let me know if you change your mind though.”
But I know that I won’t.
I don’t have access to any photos or videos of myself anymore. Sol encourages us to destroy them when we first arrive at the cabin, the first step to letting go of our painful and troubled pasts. Zinnia’s drawing is the only image I have of myself the wayIsee me. The way the people I loved before everything fell apart knew me. And even though I know that it’s wrong—that if Sol knew about the drawing, he’d likely tell me to let it go, too—I can’t bear the thought of losing it.
There’s a loud series of coughs somewhere below us, followed by slow, sluggish footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, Violet appears in the doorway. Her skin looks flushed, and there are dark circles under her eyes. Her arms are wrapped around herself, like she’s trying to keep warm.
“Y’allare taking way too long to get moving this morning,” she scolds, the impact slightly undermined by the chattering of her teeth.
“Sorry,” Poppy says, despite her being the one of us who is the closest to being ready for the day. She’s already dressed, just searching through our piles of clean clothes, clearly hopeful she’ll be lucky enough to find matching socks. “We got distracted by Iris’s new haircut.”
“Hardly an excuse when there ain’t food on the table yet,” Violet says.
“You okay, Violet?” I ask. “You don’t look well.”
“Real kind of you to point it out,” she snaps before immediately having to turn away and cough into her elbow. After a couple of minutes, she lets out a shaky breath and looks at us. “Now hurry up. Lily’s sick, too, so, Zinnia and Rose—y’all gotta cook breakfast. And, Poppy, we got a bunch of laundry that needs to get done today.”
“I’m on it,” Poppy says.
