Magnolia’s heart hammered in her chest as she trudged down the spiral staircase into her family’s great room. The frowning faces of her ancestors peered out from behind the gold-framed pictures on the wall. Their faces looked as angry as her mother’s was sure to be.
Moments before, Magnolia’s hair had been blond and almost long enough to sit on. Now it was short and spiky and as blue as a robin’s egg. Watching the pale locks float to the floor as she hacked away with a scissors felt wonderful to Magnolia. It was almost as if she had been shedding something that had never really belonged to her.
But now she had to face her mother.
Standing outside the closed kitchen door, Magnolia — no, she decided, it would be just “Maggie” from now on — could hear the murmurings of her family as they prepared breakfast. Her father’s voice rumbled low like thunder, but it was her mother’s softer but sterner voice that really made the sweat break out on Maggie’s palms. She was probably telling Maggie’s twin sister, Beatrice, to sit up straight. Her mother was always scolding them about their posture.
In her mind, Maggie could see Beatrice obeying by lifting her chin and straightening her back. Beatrice always did whatever their mother wanted. Beatrice wouldn’t complain about the disgusting egg whites and spinach that would surely be sitting on her plate. Breakfast on the mornings of figure-skating competitions always meant egg whites and spinach.
The thought of having to spoon up that white and green slime made Maggie want to barf. She would eat without complaint, though. She was going to be in enough trouble as it was.
Maggie pulled her shoulders back. She thought, Well, I hope I live to see thirteen. She nudged open the swinging door and peeked in.
Sunlight streamed into her family’s kitchen. It was spotless and flawlessly decorated, just like the rest of their home. Her mother stood pouring coffee, the smell of the roasted beans filling the air. She was also spotless and flawlessly decorated. She wore an all-white outfit with large pearls earrings and fingernails polished perfectly pink. Maggie didn’t understand how anybody could ever wear white. She liked ketchup too much.
At first, no one seemed to see Maggie as she entered. Beatrice was in the middle of telling the story about how she had landed her first double axel the day before.
We all know how great you are, Beatrice, Maggie thought. You can stop rubbing it in.
Maggie slid into her spot at the table as silent as a ghost. Yep, egg whites and spinach. Gross. She held her breath and shoveled a huge bite into her mouth. She followed it with a gulp of orange juice to mask the taste. This would not be what she would have chosen for her last meal on earth.
When Beatrice’s voice broke off mid-sentence, the sudden silence pressed in around Maggie’s ears. It was more powerful than if a train had decided to roll right through their house. Her gut curdled with fear.
She had been spotted.
Her mother choked out a garbled sound from across the room and then went quiet. When Maggie dared to sneak a look at her from beneath lowered lashes, she saw that her mother’s eyes had gone round with horror. Maggie wasn’t prepared for the rush of shame that flooded through her. She ran a hand over the spikes on her head.
“I was . . . going for a . . . new look?” she said, her voice sounding small and scared. As if making a peace offering, she started to spoon her breakfast into her mouth again.
Beatrice’s mouth gaped like the trout Maggie had caught last summer at their lake cabin. The girls’ dad’s eyes twinkled and danced with thinly disguised amusement and maybe just a touch of worry.
The door to the kitchen swung as her mother stalked out.
Beatrice shoveled one last bite of breakfast in and threw her napkin on her plate. “Why are you so weird, Magnolia?” she said.
“Beatrice,” their dad warned. He raised his eyebrows as if to say more but left it at that.
“Seriously,” Beatrice said. “I don’t know how Magnolia and I are even sisters, let alone twins.” She gave Maggie one last scathing stare and left, flipping her blond ponytail over her shoulder.
“Guess they didn’t like your new hairstyle,” their dad said. It seemed as if he was trying really hard not to laugh.
Maggie gave him a grateful smile. At least it seemed as if someone was on her side. It’s just hair, she thought. What’s the big deal?
* * *
Zoe squealed when she saw Maggie at the skating rink. The two girls hugged. Beatrice rolled her eyes at them.
She’s just jealous, Maggie thought, putting down her monogrammed skating bag and opening up her locker. Beatrice spent too much time worrying about how to be a perfect ice skater. She never had any friends.
Zoe’s mom owned a hair styling salon, which was how Maggie had gotten the blue dye. Zoe was always showing up to school with crazily colored hair, and she regularly picked out her own clothes at the mall.
Maggie would give anything to do that. Their mother still ordered her and Beatrice to wear matching outfits like they were five years old.
The rest of the team was getting ready for the competition. There was a lot of laughing and chattering in the locker room. As each teammate saw Maggie, they either gave her a high-five or looked at her like she was insane. Maggie didn’t care. She felt more like herself than ever.
Giddy from the new feeling, Maggie dug out her skating outfit and grimaced. It was pink, her mother’s favorite non-white color. The skirt was lacy and flowing with delicate sleeves that looked like they belonged on a Barbie doll.
Maggie’s skates sat on the floor. They were the best skates money could buy. White, of course. She had asked for black skates a couple of years ago for her birthday, but her mother wouldn’t even discuss it. And when Maggie had asked to pick her own music, her mother just shook her head and picked out another boring classical song.
Across the locker room, Beatrice stretched. Her blond locks were in a high bun. Not a single strand of hair was out of place. She looked snobbish but comfortable in her skin. Maggie was certain that Beatrice didn’t feel the same wild pull inside of her body that Maggie so often felt. The pull tugged at Maggie and told her to do something different. To be someone different.
Maggie finished changing. She straightened her ugly pink costume and slid blade protectors over her spotless white skates. As she walked toward the exit of the locker room, she caught a glimpse of her bright blue hair in a mirror. Her heart did a happy little jig. She couldn’t believe she’d really done it and had the sudden thought that maybe she should just quit skating altogether.