The Greenest Wind. Gesine Schulz

her head, her mother slowly sat down on Lucy’s bed. “As if I didn’t have enough to worry about before we take off! Thank goodness tomorrow’s the last day of school!”

      “I’m not going,” said Lucy quickly.

      “You’re darn right you’re not going,” her mother said. “You’re not going anywhere before I’ve talked to Stefan. Get me the box, please.”

      Lucy got the package out of the bathroom.

      “Didn’t you see what it said on the side here? ‘Not suitable for blond hair.’ Not suitable, Lucy!”

      She went out into the hall to phone her hairdresser.

      Lucy stood in front of the mirror again.

      She heard her mother telling Stefan: “I have no idea what put a crazy idea like this into her head. Stop laughing!... No, never, ever did she say a word about wanting red hair. If that were the case, we could have put a few highlights in, or a rinse... Yes, I know. The question is, what do we do now?... No... Uh-huh. Uh-huh. I see. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. OK. Well, we can only hope... Uh-huh. Right away... Uh-huh. Thank you, Stefan. Bye.” Her mother came back.

      “So, the only way to fix it now is to strip the red dye from your hair and then re-dye it to your natural color. But Stefan says that would be too many chemicals and not good for the hair. And actually, the color will wash out after a few weeks, anyway. With blond hair it’ll probably go slower, but in five weeks’ time it should be a lot paler, and then we’ll just have to see. And now wrap a towel around it, please. I absolutely cannot stand to look at it.”

      Lucy picked out a fluffy, light-blue towel that went well with her jeans and wrapped it around her head like a turban. The few wisps of red that were peeking out she tucked under the towel and looked at herself in the mirror. A prince from India was looking back at her. She put on a couple of necklaces and attached a clip-on earring to the middle of the towel. Maybe she should toss a few towels in her suitcase, one to match every sweater. She crossed her arms over her chest and bowed before the mirror.

      She went to the kitchen. “Look at my next Mardi Gras costume. I’m going as an Indian prince.”

      Her mother was putting the lasagna on the table, already set for dinner.

      “Go as whatever you want, but in the future, leave your hair alone, all right? Why didn’t you say you wanted red hair? I’m sure Stefan could have come up with something a little more subtle.”

      “But I didn’t want red hair!” Lucy yelled.

      “Anybody looking at you would have a hard time believing that.”