“This is the first time we’ve gone shopping without getting a hair ornament for you, Mace,” said Grace. When they were little, they had loved having rhyming names. Grace/Mace never failed to knock them down laughing. “You now have the world’s largest useless Scrunchie, ribbon and barrette collection,” Grace informed her.

“It’s true,” said Macey, touching her short hair. “But I’m going to grow it out, so in another five years or so I can use barrettes again.” Five years. She would be in college. Halfway through college! This was an incredible thought. She said, “You know, I keep thinking about Venita and Chamique.”

“You’re kidding,” said Grace. “I plan never to think of them or that place again. That was the scariest day of my life.”

“The fire was the scariest,” agreed Macey, “but I meant Venita. I can’t get over how she was quoting Shakespeare. I don’t have any Shakespeare by memory. I couldn’t have launched into Hamlet even though we read it last year.”

“Shakespeare?” repeated Lindsay, laughing. “Macey, what are you talking about? Venita? The one with all the braids? Quoting Shakespeare? Give me a break, Mace.”

Macey had forgotten that Lindsay and Grace had been in another room, busily not talking to Chamique, while a radio filled the silence. “Well, Venita and Isaiah knew Shakespeare better than I do, and I didn’t expect that.”

“ ’Cause you’re racist,” said Grace. “We’re all racist. Look at this darling top! Do you love this little vest thing or what? What is it, anyway?”

They took turns trying it on. It was a garment with no name or purpose, and they ended up giggling steadily, unable to imagine where you would wear this thing with one sleeve, half a front, and great colors for which you would have paid several hundred dollars. Lindsay bought a sweater instead.

Grace’s mother picked them up, but Macey decided to walk home. She felt all cramped in the knees at the end of a day if she hadn’t swung her stride to its limit.

She cut through a side street, and there was the gift shop that Mom’s friend Mrs. Framm had opened several years ago. Mrs. Framm was another one of these people who thought Macey was perfect, and it was always worthwhile to drop in on Mrs. Framm so she could tell Macey again how perfect she was.

The shop’s specialty was lamp shades. Her shades were pleated and laced and stenciled and painted and gilded and trimmed. Macey tried to imagine a life so boring that you got excited about the edges of your lamp shades.

“Macey!” said Mrs. Framm, hugging and admiring. “Macey, darling, I love the slinky haircut! My dear, you are so au courant! Wherever did you find the courage to cut off your magnificent hair?”