door, teetering down the sidewalk, trying not to topple my castle.
5:19
I came home from the cake-off to a house full of short-haired strangers (a.k.a. Alex AND Joey!).
“Your hair,” I blurted in surprise, then covered my mouth.
“I know,” said Alex. “It’s shorter than Shakespeare’s.”
“But you’re not as bald as Humpty Dumpty!” Joey added encouragingly.
My sister reached up and tugged a short hunk of hair over her ears, as if yanking on it might somehow make it longer.
Joey jumped in. “It’s just like the Great Tragedy in Little Women !”
“How is this like Beth dying?” I asked impatiently.
“No, it’s like the time Jo tried to curl Meg’s hair, and she burned off all the ends.”
“This is a Great Tragedy,” said Alex, tragically touching her short mop of curls. She went on to tell about the dress rehearsal I’d missed, and the fact that her moth-munched wig fell off no less than seven times during rehearsal.
Then Joey told about coming home and finding Einstein Alex and getting her hair chopped off and giving it to Locks of Love.
“How does it feel?” I asked.
“Weird,” said Joey. “It was scary at first, but then thrilling. ”
“Thrilling, huh?”
“You know. Just like when Jo March cut off all her hair and sold it for twenty-five dollars to help her family because they were so poor.”
“That was a brave thing you did, Duck,” I told her.
“Stop calling me Duck. Call me Jo!”
“And way generous.” I felt guilty, twirling a lock of my own long hair.
“Yeah, but then on the way home, at the supermarket, a guy stepped on my foot by mistake, and his wife said, ‘Say you’re sorry to the boy.’ Try explaining that I’m a girl named Joey with this hair,” Joey said.
At least she could laugh about it. “Now we’ll have to call you J-O-E instead of just J-O,” I teased her.
Mom and Dad came in. “Tell us all about the cake-off,” said Mom.
“They must have loved your enchanted castle,” Dad said.
“Did you win a blue ribbon?” Joey asked eagerly.
“Nope.”
“Did you win a gold ribbon?”
“Nope.”
“Did you win a red or green or purple or silver?”
“Nope. No ribbons, Joe. Although I could have won the You’re-the-Only-Person-Here-Under-Fifty ribbon.” Mom and Dad laughed. Alex went to check her hair in the bathroom mirror for the hundredth time since I’d walked in the door.
“I’m not kidding, you guys. You’ve never seen such fancy cakes in your life. There was a candy-cane cake, a cake called Red Velvet, and a daffodil cake. Every ingredient in the whole entire cake was yellow, and it was decorated with tons of real daffodils.”
“That sounds pretty,” said Mom. “I’m sorry I missed that.”
“But your castle was so great,” Joey said. “How come you didn’t win anything? Too many I-Hate-My-Sister cupcakes?”
I glanced toward the bathroom, hoping Alex hadn’t heard. “No-wa,” I said, making my “no” sound like it had two syllables. “I’m not kidding, these people are so way good, like professionals. When they saw my castle, since it’s made of cupcakes, I had to enter in the Sculpture Cake division. They had cakes like a pyramid, a dog in his doghouse, a stack of books, and a snowman cake. There was even a cake that looked like a big giant bloodshot eyeball.”
“Did you know Shakespeare invented the word eyeball ?” Dad asked.
“But I bet he didn’t invent eyeball cake, ” said Joey.
“He also invented the word unhair, ” said Mom, grinning.
“As in, ‘Un-hair me, you villain!’” I waved my arm around in a fake sword-fight.
Joey flipped to the back of the big dictionary. “It’s in here. It’s a real word. ‘To deprive of hair.’”
“I can use it in a sentence. My unhaired sisters look really weird,” I teased.
“I heard that,” said Alex, still tugging on her hair as she came back into the room.
“So what cake won the contest?” said
5:19
I came home from the cake-off to a house full of short-haired strangers (a.k.a. Alex AND Joey!).
“Your hair,” I blurted in surprise, then covered my mouth.
“I know,” said Alex. “It’s shorter than Shakespeare’s.”
“But you’re not as bald as Humpty Dumpty!” Joey added encouragingly.
My sister reached up and tugged a short hunk of hair over her ears, as if yanking on it might somehow make it longer.
Joey jumped in. “It’s just like the Great Tragedy in Little Women !”
“How is this like Beth dying?” I asked impatiently.
“No, it’s like the time Jo tried to curl Meg’s hair, and she burned off all the ends.”
“This is a Great Tragedy,” said Alex, tragically touching her short mop of curls. She went on to tell about the dress rehearsal I’d missed, and the fact that her moth-munched wig fell off no less than seven times during rehearsal.
Then Joey told about coming home and finding Einstein Alex and getting her hair chopped off and giving it to Locks of Love.
“How does it feel?” I asked.
“Weird,” said Joey. “It was scary at first, but then thrilling. ”
“Thrilling, huh?”
“You know. Just like when Jo March cut off all her hair and sold it for twenty-five dollars to help her family because they were so poor.”
“That was a brave thing you did, Duck,” I told her.
“Stop calling me Duck. Call me Jo!”
“And way generous.” I felt guilty, twirling a lock of my own long hair.
“Yeah, but then on the way home, at the supermarket, a guy stepped on my foot by mistake, and his wife said, ‘Say you’re sorry to the boy.’ Try explaining that I’m a girl named Joey with this hair,” Joey said.
At least she could laugh about it. “Now we’ll have to call you J-O-E instead of just J-O,” I teased her.
Mom and Dad came in. “Tell us all about the cake-off,” said Mom.
“They must have loved your enchanted castle,” Dad said.
“Did you win a blue ribbon?” Joey asked eagerly.
“Nope.”
“Did you win a gold ribbon?”
“Nope.”
“Did you win a red or green or purple or silver?”
“Nope. No ribbons, Joe. Although I could have won the You’re-the-Only-Person-Here-Under-Fifty ribbon.” Mom and Dad laughed. Alex went to check her hair in the bathroom mirror for the hundredth time since I’d walked in the door.
“I’m not kidding, you guys. You’ve never seen such fancy cakes in your life. There was a candy-cane cake, a cake called Red Velvet, and a daffodil cake. Every ingredient in the whole entire cake was yellow, and it was decorated with tons of real daffodils.”
“That sounds pretty,” said Mom. “I’m sorry I missed that.”
“But your castle was so great,” Joey said. “How come you didn’t win anything? Too many I-Hate-My-Sister cupcakes?”
I glanced toward the bathroom, hoping Alex hadn’t heard. “No-wa,” I said, making my “no” sound like it had two syllables. “I’m not kidding, these people are so way good, like professionals. When they saw my castle, since it’s made of cupcakes, I had to enter in the Sculpture Cake division. They had cakes like a pyramid, a dog in his doghouse, a stack of books, and a snowman cake. There was even a cake that looked like a big giant bloodshot eyeball.”
“Did you know Shakespeare invented the word eyeball ?” Dad asked.
“But I bet he didn’t invent eyeball cake, ” said Joey.
“He also invented the word unhair, ” said Mom, grinning.
“As in, ‘Un-hair me, you villain!’” I waved my arm around in a fake sword-fight.
Joey flipped to the back of the big dictionary. “It’s in here. It’s a real word. ‘To deprive of hair.’”
“I can use it in a sentence. My unhaired sisters look really weird,” I teased.
“I heard that,” said Alex, still tugging on her hair as she came back into the room.
“So what cake won the contest?” said
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