Change Places with Me(6)
“Why are we even having this conversation with her?” Selena asked. “She’s not part of anything!”
Just then the bio teacher, Mr. Slocum, was standing before them. Rose could swear she saw her own reflection in his shiny, bald head. “I trust you’re discussing your observations on the dissection? The outline is due in fifteen minutes.”
“No problem!” Selena said. “Such an interesting project!”
Mr. Slocum took a moment to give Rose a hard look. “You’ve been paying attention, I hope?”
“Absolutely,” Rose said.
“You think I can’t tell when my students are off in la-la land? I’ve been teaching for thirty years.”
“That’s wonderful!” Selena said. “You’re so dedicated.” As soon as he left, she said, “What observations? The whole project was a disaster!”
“You should write the outline,” Astrid said to Rose. “You were the one who messed it up last week.”
True, last week’s assignment had not gone well. “Okay, just catch me up on what I missed,” Rose said. “By the way, you may find this interesting, Astrid, since you changed your name a few years back. My new name is Rose. It suits me like a—”
“Whatever,” Astrid muttered.
That was easy, Rose thought, relieved.
CHAPTER 4
Everyone said Belle Heights was so boring, a big chunk of nothing in Queens, New York City. Belle Drive, the busiest street, was a museum, a fossil, a dinosaur compared to neighboring Spruce Hills, which had giant stores like Target, Home Depot, and Asteroid, and smaller, trendy stores opening all the time. But Rose decided she liked the fact that, except for the hydro-buses (and she could hear one wheezing behind her, a sure sign it was about to stall), long, winding Belle Drive had changed so little over the years. Especially now that she was changing so much. She’d spoken to a lady recently somewhere who seemed to know about these things—that Rose would change, that she would be so happy. If Rose ran into the lady again, she could tell her she was right. But how could you run into someone if you didn’t remember what she looked like?
No matter. It rained so lightly Rose didn’t even get wet as she passed a diner with a revolving display of layer cakes, a thrift shop, a cosmetics store, and an animal hospital—little places so close together they all seemed connected, like the apartment houses on Rose’s block. Some even shared an awning.
Inside Sassy Cuts, Rose spoke to a hairstylist whose nametag said Bridget.
“That was my mother’s name!” Rose said, amazed at the coincidence. Rose had no memory of her mother, who’d died when she was a baby, but there were pictures, of course, and apparently her mom had laughed a lot.
“What can I do for you?” Bridget said.
“I need to get rid of these bangs.” Rose flicked them away as if that was all it took to rid her life of them.
“Not a problem. They’re awfully long, anyway. You can hardly see your nice blue eyes!”
Rose described the exact, even, almost chin length she wanted, “So I can put my hair behind one ear if I want to. Please don’t go too short or I won’t be able to do that.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“It should be dark. Can you dye it, too?”
“Of course.”
As Rose sat in the chair, an oldies station blasted away. She’d never paid much attention to music, but now she could barely sit still from an urge to nod her head and shimmy-shake. One song in particular really stuck with her, even though it was almost sixty years old. “Changes” by David Bowie. “Strange fascination, fascinating me . . . pretty soon now you’re gonna get older . . . ch-ch-ch-ch-changes . . .” She couldn’t wait to download it to her phone.
Bridget gave her a quick blow-dry and said, “What do you think?”
In the mirror Rose saw a girl with short dark hair just above her chin. She pushed one side behind her ear and left the other side in front. “It’s perfect.”
She also stopped in at the thrift store just down the street, Second Nature. She had to have a jean jacket. But not just any old jean jacket. It had to suit the new haircut, complement it. She tried on half a dozen jean jackets, and every time she looked in the mirror and turned around to see her back, something was missing. Very disappointing, but she would keep looking for exactly the right one.
On Tuesday morning Rose had to sign up for six hours of school service, which was a tenth-grade requirement this semester. A great opportunity, she thought, to try something new and exciting. She read the list of choices: caring for soil-free plants in the school greenhouse, after-school tutoring, assistant crossing guard. But something else grabbed her. Mr. Slocum needed a lab assistant. No students ever signed up to work with him—why would they? Mr. Slocum was the most hated teacher in school, and he seemed to have a particular dislike for her. Maybe by the end of the six hours, Mr. Slocum would tolerate her better, even like her. Which was as worthy a project as any.
Rose sat down to lunch with Kim again. Kim, true to form, was wearing a purple shirt over maroon pants and, around her throat, a blue scarf with black stars. Rose knew she herself had to stop wearing overalls and flannel shirts, but Kim’s style was not the direction she had in mind.
“Do you like my hair?” Rose asked. “The guy at the scanner said I look like Barbara Stanwyck, whoever that is.”