its sleeve and floating over to her stereo set. The needle settled on the vinyl disk and ‘Pearly-Dewdrops' Drops’, began to play.
She peeled her jeans off and left them on the floor, walking to her bathroom. One giant advantage of living in the boarding house: a private bath. She stepped into the white tiled room and ran the tub with hot water. As the room steamed up, she looked at herself in the mirror. Emerald wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t pretty either. She was just strange looking, different, but not in a bad way, she thought. That never bothered her, Emerald liked being unique. She just didn’t like the problems that came with it. She felt misunderstood, like nobody knew who she really was. When she looked at herself in the mirror, besides blue hair and emerald green eyes, for which she was named, she saw someone who stood up for herself. She saw someone who wasn’t afraid to speak up, who defended people who didn’t know how to defend themselves. She knew she was a loyal friend and that she had a selfless heart. Well, she did most of the time, she cringed, remembering how she’d reacted to Seneka’s news that afternoon. But somehow she had become a nuisance, a rebel, and the girl who always had too much to say and didn’t know when to quit and shut up. None of the great things she thought about herself mattered as much as the awful things everyone else thought about her. Those things seemed to weigh heavily in her heart, and to take up all the space in her brain. She wondered if anyone else felt the same way. Maybe if she looked less intimidating, she thought, picking up her hairbrush, which was buzzing happily on her porcelain sink. She passed the brush through her electric blue hair, and as she did, it turned a shade of candy pink she’d seen Missy wear on her nails once. She did this until her entire head was pink and then put the brush down.
“There, now I look like cotton candy,” she said with a smirk. It didn’t occur to her to make her hair blonde or brown. She wanted to fit in, but not if she had to be boring.
She took the rest of her clothes off and stepped into the steaming bath. She reached up for the small window in her bathtub and let some of the steam out of the small room. She could see the stars from where she lay, but she brought her knees up to her chin and stared at the suds instead. She dipped her head back into the water, and some of the pink dye from her hair ran into the bath. Emerald hadn’t perfected the hairbrush just yet. It made the bubbles look like tiny scoops of strawberry ice cream. She sat in the tub and tried to relax, stretching herself out so only her toes showed on the other side of the frothy water. She was emotionally drained from her sixteenth birthday, not to mention that her feet hurt from running around the city, avoiding Nora. She stayed until her fingers looked like ten little old ladies. She stretched one hand over the edge of the tub, and a hot pink towel came hurtling towards her. She stood up and wrapped herself in the fluffy rectangle, her cheeks flushed from the hot water. She got dressed for bed in her black, oversized The Clash t-shirt and looked around her room, hands on her hips.
She thought of what Henri had told her about, the poem. She walked over to her overstuffed desk and frowned. The book of poems was in there somewhere.
She shuffled through the enormous mound of papers on her desk, sheets of papers and college booklets falling over the sides and piling up on the floor. Nothing. She looked to her left in a huff; maybe it was in her armoire. She opened the top drawer and shuffled the contents around. It was full of old cassette tapes, rubber bands, and one Twinkie still in the wrapper, which Aunt Nora would’ve screamed her head off if she’d found. Beneath all of that, at the very bottom of the drawer, was the book. She lifted it out of the drawer and sat on her bed.
“Which poem was it?” she asked herself. Ah, ‘A Seed in
She peeled her jeans off and left them on the floor, walking to her bathroom. One giant advantage of living in the boarding house: a private bath. She stepped into the white tiled room and ran the tub with hot water. As the room steamed up, she looked at herself in the mirror. Emerald wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t pretty either. She was just strange looking, different, but not in a bad way, she thought. That never bothered her, Emerald liked being unique. She just didn’t like the problems that came with it. She felt misunderstood, like nobody knew who she really was. When she looked at herself in the mirror, besides blue hair and emerald green eyes, for which she was named, she saw someone who stood up for herself. She saw someone who wasn’t afraid to speak up, who defended people who didn’t know how to defend themselves. She knew she was a loyal friend and that she had a selfless heart. Well, she did most of the time, she cringed, remembering how she’d reacted to Seneka’s news that afternoon. But somehow she had become a nuisance, a rebel, and the girl who always had too much to say and didn’t know when to quit and shut up. None of the great things she thought about herself mattered as much as the awful things everyone else thought about her. Those things seemed to weigh heavily in her heart, and to take up all the space in her brain. She wondered if anyone else felt the same way. Maybe if she looked less intimidating, she thought, picking up her hairbrush, which was buzzing happily on her porcelain sink. She passed the brush through her electric blue hair, and as she did, it turned a shade of candy pink she’d seen Missy wear on her nails once. She did this until her entire head was pink and then put the brush down.
“There, now I look like cotton candy,” she said with a smirk. It didn’t occur to her to make her hair blonde or brown. She wanted to fit in, but not if she had to be boring.
She took the rest of her clothes off and stepped into the steaming bath. She reached up for the small window in her bathtub and let some of the steam out of the small room. She could see the stars from where she lay, but she brought her knees up to her chin and stared at the suds instead. She dipped her head back into the water, and some of the pink dye from her hair ran into the bath. Emerald hadn’t perfected the hairbrush just yet. It made the bubbles look like tiny scoops of strawberry ice cream. She sat in the tub and tried to relax, stretching herself out so only her toes showed on the other side of the frothy water. She was emotionally drained from her sixteenth birthday, not to mention that her feet hurt from running around the city, avoiding Nora. She stayed until her fingers looked like ten little old ladies. She stretched one hand over the edge of the tub, and a hot pink towel came hurtling towards her. She stood up and wrapped herself in the fluffy rectangle, her cheeks flushed from the hot water. She got dressed for bed in her black, oversized The Clash t-shirt and looked around her room, hands on her hips.
She thought of what Henri had told her about, the poem. She walked over to her overstuffed desk and frowned. The book of poems was in there somewhere.
She shuffled through the enormous mound of papers on her desk, sheets of papers and college booklets falling over the sides and piling up on the floor. Nothing. She looked to her left in a huff; maybe it was in her armoire. She opened the top drawer and shuffled the contents around. It was full of old cassette tapes, rubber bands, and one Twinkie still in the wrapper, which Aunt Nora would’ve screamed her head off if she’d found. Beneath all of that, at the very bottom of the drawer, was the book. She lifted it out of the drawer and sat on her bed.
“Which poem was it?” she asked herself. Ah, ‘A Seed in
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