Piper squinches up her face and clasps her fingers together, begging. “Not even mascara?”

I point to my eyes. “No eyelashes.”

Piper sighs heavily and yanks the bandana off before I can stop her.

“Then our first task is this mess you call hair.”

My right hand hides my head while I grab for my bandana with my toe-hand. Piper’s eyes land on the spot where my ear should be but says nothing about my missing pieces.

“Well, you can’t be photographed like this.” She shakes the bandana at me. “Or wearing this fashion faux pas.”

I snatch again at the bandana in vain.

“Exactly. Now you see the beauty of my no-photographs policy.”

“Not so fast.”

She nods toward Cora, who is doing a super-duper clandestine job of acting like she’s not watching us. She’s even killed her engine and rolled down her window to aid her eavesdropping.

“Will your aunt take us somewhere?”

Cora pulls up to the curb when I wave her over. Envelopes and hospital bills with big red FINAL NOTICE declarations screaming from the top of the page cover the passenger seat.

“You girls okay?”

“We need a ride,” Piper says.

“Where to?” Cora asks, gathering up all the paperwork.

Piper grins mischievously at me.

“To get Ava some new hair.”

17

“I must look like an undead hooker.”

I whisper because we are the only people in the creepiest store in the history of strip malls. A lady with wide eyeliner circles and innumerable piercings pretends to brush out a frizzy brown wig behind the counter, but she’s watching us through the rows of faceless dummy heads.

Piper directs me to a full-length mirror on the wall.

“See for yourself.”

I force myself to look in the glass to see the monstrosity of a wig Piper has placed on my head. It’s hot pink—of course—with short bangs tickling my forehead and a bob cut coming just below my chin.

“It’s exactly what you need,” she declares.

The curl of the bob does cover my earlessness perfectly, and the bangs draw attention to my eyes rather than the wrinkled skin around them.

I lean closer to the mirror.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of…desperate?”

Piper laughs as she smooths out a long blond wig with straight strands reaching down to her lap, like a Coachella flower child.

“Desperate times, my friend. Desperate times.”

I step back from the mirror and put my hand on my hips, trying to look normal. Oh hey, just here being super casual in my clown wig and scarred-up body.

“Maybe something a little more subdued. Like light brown? This feels like I’m trying too hard.”

Piper deflates and looks up at the ceiling like she’s praying for patience.